Paying the Piper
by Princess Tyler Briefs
Summary: Jeff Tracy has a vision- to create a group of rescuers that could save the world from every possible disaster. And he is determined to see it through at any cost. Thunderbirds: Millennium, Episode 1.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Please don't misunderstand my goal with this project. My sister—who is my collab partner—and I both love the original TV series, and this is meant more as a tribute than anything. A way to revamp and update the series that, unfortunately, has a view of the future from the 1960s point of view as well as place on it the emphasis that my sister and I love; characters and their relationships a bit more than the rescues.

This would be much better as a doujinshi, but I am not that great an artist, unfortunately. You're going to have to deal with my hybrid writing of trying to make this feel more like the visual media it should be by writing lots of description, avoiding as much introspection as I can, and give you more explanation in dialogue than I would generally like. Hopefully, I'll manage it.

I will confess that at least half of this John was inspired by Math Girl's, because she has completely nailed the John I've been searching for. The first scene in this is ripped, in concept, almost straight from her story 'Inception' which is a long but excellent read that I would highly recommend. I hope she doesn't mind this bit of a tribute.

**Disclaimer:** When I write a real book and make lots of money, I'm going to buy the boys, you will see this animated up and looking awesome. Until then, they belong to Gerry Anderson and they are his alone to do things with.

**Summary:** Jeff Tracy has a vision- to create a group of rescuers that could save the world from every possible disaster. And he is determined to see it through at any cost. Thunderbirds: Millennium, Episode 1.

_**Thunderbirds: Millennium  
**__**Episode 1: Paying the Piper**_

Jeff Tracy frowned at his reflection, and the boy he could see through the one way glass seated on the other side. The differences in the two faces were more marked now than they had been before. Jeff Tracy had a face that commanded respect from all around him, with a square jaw, dark eyes, and dark brown hair streaked with grey. His very stance spoke of a man not used to following orders, his six foot three inch frame standing with shoulders squared and feet apart, dressed in his light grey suit with hands tucked behind his back. Men did not question Jeff Tracy.

As dark as he was, the boy seated in the room in front of him was light. Large pale grey-blue eyes stared out at nothing through almost transparent blond hair, pushed down into the owners face by a backwards blue baseball cap, and a face still young but pale and gaunt. The dark blue hoodie the boy wore covered sloped shoulders and, Jeff was certain, a boney frame.

Men did not question this boy either; that was because to do so was futile, not because they respected him.

Sam stood at Jeff's elbow, stooped frame held up by a black cane, a wizened old man who had been a friend of his father's and the only lawyer Jeff trusted. His face, tanned and leathery, clearly showed how unsavory he found this whole situation, and he tugged absently at the faded cuff of his dark suit. "Are you sure you want to do this yourself, Jefferson? We could get him out of here much quieter if you don't make a circus out of it."

"Not this time, Sam. If John is angling for a circus, we'll give him one. This time we're ending these games of his." Jeff's jaw tightened, as did the grip of his own right hand on his left wrist. "I know you've bailed him out before without my permission."

The older man had the decency to look somewhat chastened. "They were boys' charges. Public intoxication, indecent exposure, all minor things easily handled. Your father always said the boy was just like you, and I remember you did as much in college."

"I grew up." And his confidence in John's ability to do the same had worn out. "He's my son, and this time we are settling things my way."

If Sam had anything to say to that, he didn't have the chance, as the door to Jeff's right opened and a small squinty eyed police officer stepped out. He shot a look of annoyance over his shoulder as he shut it behind him. "Well, Mr. Tracy, you're welcome to him for all the good it will do you. We haven't gotten a word out of him since he got here yesterday."

"Thank you for your time, officer. As you know, I am pressing no charges."

"So you said. Are you sure I can't persuade you to change your mind?"

Jeff offered the obviously annoyed man a wry smile. "Don't worry. He will face sufficient punishment." He stepped forward and took hold of the handle of the door. "Thanks for your advice, Sam. I will call you if your services are required."

There was no need to turn around to sense the dark look being sent at his back, and Jeff didn't bother. He hadn't asked Sam to come along; in fact he wouldn't be surprised to find out that John had called him to get him out of trouble as he had so many times before.

Unfortunately for John, there would be no redemption for him this time.

The door clicked shut behind him, but John didn't so much as glance his way. His hands were folded on top of the dark wood table that separated them, and the pale lights over head cast odd shadows on his white face and the carpeted walls of the plain room. There was another officer, tall with two chins, standing in the corner, but Jeff paid him no mind. He was there only as an unnecessary precaution.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here." Jeff worked to keep his voice as neutral as possible. No use giving John any advantage in this contest. "Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

A noncommittal shrug from John, and Jeff clenched his fist in frustration. Why did the boy always think that was an acceptable answer?

"Three million dollars, John. Do you have any concept of just how much money that is? That you took from me?" That was the part that angered him the most. If the boy had just asked him he...well, he wouldn't have given it all to him, certainly, but they might have worked something out. "I want it back. And for heaven sakes, look at me, boy."

Silence for several long moments before John ever so slowly raised his head. There was no fear in the visible grey-blue eye that met Jeff's own, and though his chin remained down there was an all too familiar defiant set to it.

Jeff shook his head, batting away memories of a precocious boy determined to have his own way. "Where is my money, John?"

"What makes you think I have it?" John's eye had dropped again, though Jeff hardly counted that as a victory.

"We traced the money to your account, and the security breech to your computer." Not a flinch from the boy in front of him, and Jeff ground his teeth slightly. "I'm going to tell you only once more; give me my money back."

"I don't have it." John was hunched again, the bill of his baseball cap hiding his neck and the hair it pushed down obscuring half his face.

"Then where is it?"

Another shrug, and Jeff felt his temper rising ever so slightly. None of his other boys, not even Gordon, knew how to make him as angry as John always managed.

"I could get you fined, millions of dollars. You could be sent to prison for twenty years. What happens to your dreams of exploring the universe then?"

The grey eye flicked upward for just a moment, betraying a slight moment of terror before it dropped once more and John shrugged again.

That was a victory, and Jeff would take it. He lunged in on the momentary weakness. "You'll spend all that time locked behind bars, never even seeing the stars, never mind visiting them. Tell me where the money is."

"I..." And for just a moment, his twenty-four-year old son looked uncertain before the mask of indifference closed over his face again. "I don't have it, and I can't get it back."

"How could you possibly spend three million dollars in less than a day?" This time Jeff could not keep the surprise out of his voice, his genuine confusion managing to slip through. He wasn't surprised at all when John's only answer was to hunch his shoulders more. "Well, I'm not without mercy, John, so I have a deal for you. I hadn't intended to include you before, but you'll be far more useful to me where I need you then sitting in a cell."

"What makes you think that after six years I want anything to do with you?" A small flash of white as John momentarily bared his teeth. "I don't want your mercy."

"I find it difficult to believe you would rather go to jail."

It seemed that John had nothing, not even a shrug, to argue against that with.

"You're going to come work for me until you haven't earned back every cent of that money." Perhaps it made little sense, as John would be paying him back with Jeff's own money, but the truth was he needed John's skills. Secrecy had always been John's specialty.

A look of disgust from John, who shook his head. "And if I say no?"

"Then you'll spend the rest of your life in prison. I'll make sure of it." Jeff stood, pushing himself off the table with both hands. "It's your choice, John."

"No it isn't," muttered so low Jeff almost didn't hear it, before the boy half turned to look at the silent officer. "Shouldn't you be arresting him for blackmail or something? This is flat out extortion, you know."

To Jeff's immense satisfaction, all John got back was a shrug.

"You have an hour to decide. Until then, enjoy your confinement." Jeff had reached the door, the small handle clicking softly in his hand, before he heard the voice behind him.

"What is it you have in mind?"

Jeff smiled for a moment, though he erased it from his face before he turned. "Come with me, and I'll show you."


	2. Chapter 2

The style experiment continues! This first one is, you may have noticed, going to be almost completely made up as my sister and I get you all used to this Thunderbirds universe the two of us know inside out and backwards. That being said, please let us know if you're confused. A lot of information will be coming in later chapters, but if we miss anything because we forget that you don't know, please just ask.

_**Thunderbirds: Millennium**_

_**Episode 1: Paying the Piper**_

Had Scott Malcolm Carpenter Tracy been the kind of young man who looked for signs, this was a day that would have given him plenty of them. Though it had dawned clear, a storm was fast approaching.

Standing on the wraparound porch of the old faded white farm house that was the only home the twenty-five-year-old man could remember, Scott could see for miles around; down into the open fields of the farm in the east, and to the west toward the bramble of trees by the creek that passed for woods here in central Kansas.

The fields, golden with the first turn of autumn, stood bathed in sunlight. He and the woods, however, were darkened with the shadow of pale grey clouds overhead.

He couldn't stop staring at the clouds overhead, watching for any odd movement in the weather above. It was late in the year for a tornado, but it wasn't impossible. If one did touch down, Scott wanted as much time as possible to get to the basement, and he was in the habit of watching obsessively whenever the weather turned.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Scott turned to face the owner of that beloved trembling, reedy voice with a small smile. The westerly wind that tried to ruffle his own short brown hair was going crazy with the few loose silver strands that framed his Grandmother's face after escaping her bun.

The young man couldn't quite keep the affection out of his voice. "I'm certain you're going to tell me."

For her part, Grandma Tracy didn't look up from her knitting- a scarf if Scott had to guess although it might become a sweater later- that swayed back and forth in the breeze as well. "That day you and your brothers decided to go for a bike ride when your mother was taking care of Gordon; he was just a baby at the time. You all got caught right next to that twister and came home covered in mud with your bikes gone, and Johnny lost his shoes. Do you remember?"

"Yes, Memaw, I remember." Scott allowed himself a small smile. Oh, yes, he remembered that very well. Their father had been down in Houston, training, and their mother was frazzled. He hadn't realized at the time how stressed she must have been, but when she'd yelled at John and Virgil for fighting, he had decided it best to take his younger brothers, just four and five years old, outside, and maybe down the road to Grandma and Grandpa's house.

He hadn't known then what a sky that odd almost green color meant, and when John had expressed his misgivings Virgil had called him a baby. Unable to take that insult from his younger brother, John had sped off down the road on his bike, leaving a laughing Virgil and frantic Scott to try and catch him.

They had, just as the tornado touched down a couple of miles away. Scott had seized his two little brothers, yanking them into the muddy ditch just off the road and holding them flat as the wind roared above them louder than a train yard. Everything had sounded muffled when they finally sat up again, and the bikes they'd left on the road were gone. John's shoes, which had been too big for him but he'd insisted on wearing because they had rockets on them, had also vanished. Putting John on his back and taking Virgil's hand, Scott had led them on the weary march home to the relief of their mother and the grandparents she had frantically called looking for them.

That was so long ago now, and those little brothers were grown now. One of them Scott hadn't seen in six years and could be dead for all he knew, and the other on a tropical island putting his pre-med schooling to good use.

A soft vibrating sound from where his hip was leaning against the porch railing, and Scott looked down in surprise before pulling out his small black flip phone. The small rectangular screen in the middle of the front read 'Virgil', and Scott smiled more broadly at it. "Speak of the devil."

Flipping it open, the background of the screen flashed green, and an animate picture of a boy with spiky brown hair and dark eyes blinked and smiled at him, with a speech bubble coming off the icon. "The Cheese is returning to the trap. Thought you should know."

A frown as Scott closed his phone and sighed.

"What is it, Scotty?" Now Grandma Tracy put down her knitting on the white wicker table beside her old rocking chair. "Is it Gordon? Is he alright? He hasn't hurt himself again, has he? Virgil promised me he'd take care of him on that island, so far from any help."

"Gordon is fine, Memaw." Scott put his right hand to his forehead, shielding it from what was left of the sunshine. A dust cloud had appeared down the road, where the paved state road met the dirt road of Tracy property. Virgil's text couldn't have arrived a moment too soon. "Dad is on his way."

"Oh!" The old woman smiled and clasped her hands together. "He'll be just in time for lunch. Help me up, won't you, Scotty?"

Ever obedient, Scott walked stiffly over and took the hands offered to him before gently pulling the old woman up right. "I'm sure Dad'll be happy to have lunch with us, but I wish we could have had a little more warning."

Grandma Tracy laughed, reaching up to pat Scott's cheek affectionately. "Don't take it so personally, Scott. I'm sure he's just passing through and thought he'd stop by. He knows you're taking very good care of me and the farm."

A weak smile was all Scott offered in return before pointing her in direction of the open screen door. "Keep it simple this time, huh?"

It was another few minutes before the antique red Chevy convertible, it's black rag-top up as it always was, made it up the hill to the farm house, and Scott made his way down the front steps as it pulled up, calling over as the driver's door opened. "You could have called first."

"I apologize." Jeff looked older than the last time Scott had seen him as he offered a forced smile. "I hadn't intended to come see you for another couple of weeks yet, but I had a change of plans. You can thank your brother for that."

For the first time, Scott noticed there was another person in the car, climbing out of the passenger side back seat. The eldest Tracy blinked once, then twice, and the apparition did not disappear.

The boy standing in front of him was in his early twenties, scrawny and dressed in an over-sized dark blue hoodie and baggy black jeans. His hair was pale blond, the right side of it long and hanging over his eye while the rest was tucked up under the backwards blue baseball cap he wore.

Standing there, for a moment, it was like no time had passed at all, and Scott found himself remembering the last time they had stood face to face.

_"Scott, please don't go." John was standing barefoot in the snow, having not even bothered to throw on his boots before running after Scott in the front yard. He hadn't put on a coat, either, and he stood shivering under the full moon light in his thin black t-shirt and jeans. His hair had hung in his face then too, although all of it had been longer and shaggy then. "Just put off college for a few more years, until Gordon's done with high school. You can come back to it."_

_Shutting the trunk of his El Camino, Scott took off his scarf and wrapped it around his brother's neck, over the spiked collar the younger boy always wore for no reason Scott could tell. John looked so cold, with his arms over his chest like that. "I can't do that kiddo, you know that. I made a promise to the Air Force, I can't back out on it now."_

_"What about your promise to us?" John stamped his foot childishly and those grey eyes of his seemed unusually bright. "I can't do this. I can't be the big brother they need me to be. I'm just...I'm not you, and they need you."_

_For a moment, Scott hesitated, but then his right hand found the keys in his jacket pocket. The moment passed. "Don't sell yourself short, Spaceman. I know thing have been rough around here, but you'll-"_

_"Rough?" John's expression changed from pleading to furious at a frightening speed. "You've been gone six months, and in that time Gordon has gotten himself a week's suspension, detention I don't know how many time, and is barely keeping his grades up enough to stay on the swim team. Alan has been sent home six times for fighting, and he keeps falling asleep in class. Hell if he'll talk to me about it, though."_

_"John..."_

_The younger boy removed his left hand from under his right forearm and waved it as if to brush something aside. "And Virgil," the name of their middle brother came out more growl than anything else. "Virgil has decided to become a mini-Jefferson and point out every way I'm not you, like some kind of little Mr. Perfect. Much longer of that and I'm going to have to show him how 'vile' I can really be."_

_Scott could put up with a lot, but the threatening of one of his little brother's by anyone had never made that list. His grip on his self-control slipped just a little bit. "Maybe if you didn't make it so easy for him. Fighting with Dad, sneaking out, girls, drugs...yes, I know about the crap they found in your locker. Someone else's Ritalin prescription and marijuana. The only reason I'm not spending my Christmas Break visiting you in Juvenile Hall is because Memaw stood up for you and talked the officers into letting you go. Are you really that determined to screw up your life?"_

_It was all the wrong things to say; the ones he'd avoided bringing up since and Virgil had sat up talking his first night back and his younger brother confessed everything that had been going on while he spent his first semester studying in Oxford on a military exchange program._

_The anger and betrayal flashed in John's eyes for only a heartbeat before he reigned his emotions in and all of them vanished. Scott regretted his lapse before they had even faded. _

_His watch started beeping, informing him that if he wasn't on the road soon he'd miss his flight, but he couldn't leave things like this. Scott reached out, trying to lay a hand on his brother's slim shoulder. "Johnny, I..."_

_"You've got a plane to catch." John jerked away, his face expressionless._

_There was no use trying to reason with him when John put up a wall like that, and Scott knew only time would show him the door this time. The eighteen-year-old sighed, dropping his hand to the side. "I'll call you later."_

He must not have been the only one remembering that conversation, as present day John said quietly. "You didn't call."

"No, I didn't get the chance." His roommate had gotten the day of his return wrong, leaving Scott stranded at the airport and finding a trashed dorm room when he did finally make it back what would have been 4 AM back home. Not that it mattered now. "I'm sorry."

John only shrugged at that, and Scott took a deep breath before speaking again. "What brings you here, after all this time?"

A second shrug, this one more enthusiastic than the last. "I think I'm supposed to be enjoying my last look at the sky before Jefferson takes me to the barn and slits my throat."

Scott glanced over at their father, who scowled coldly. "Stop being so dramatic." He looked over at Scott and forced a smile. "After we eat some of that delicious soup I smell my mother making, the three of us are going to have a meeting. I have an offer for you, Scott."

The sudden twisting in his gut wasn't easily brushed aside, but Scott managed to keep the vague unease out of his voice. "A business offer?"

"You might call it that." And, for the first time Scott could remember in more years than the young man cared to count, his father looked genuinely excited. "It's a once in a life time chance to make a real difference in the world."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks for sticking with this, guys! I promise we'll be getting to the IR and Thunderbirds bits of this soon. Just have to do a little more world setting up. The same rule still applies: If you are confused, just ask so we can clear it up. Also, it should be noted that it is primarily for John and Gordon's mouths that this gets the rating it does.

John is…breaking out of the previous style a bit. Because if I can't give you even a glimpse of what he's thinking, he tends to come across as a complete bastard and I don't want that, even though he can be and I love him for it. And, yes, he is being horrifically unfair to Jeff. I promise, he isn't as bad as he comes across here. John is just extremely biased and makes no effort to hide it. Hopefully, with more view points, you'll get a more fair picture of him.

Finally, would anyone like to see drawings of how the boys will look in this universe? While similar to the puppets, they aren't exactly the same, and I could do some sketches and put them on my DA page if anyone wants to see. That is all.

_**Thunderbirds: Millennium**_

_**Episode 1: Paying the Piper**_

As long as John could remember, he had survived primarily on oxygen and juice. Solid food just wasn't something he cared much for, and vitamin infused smoothies were more his thing. It had surprised and delighted him to see that Memaw, after a long hug and exclamations of how he obviously wasn't taking care of himself, had made him exactly what he always loved.

Jefferson had been less than pleased with his special menu, but since when did Jefferson approve of anything he did? It wasn't like John had ordered it or anything. And, yes, maybe taking long slow sips of it while watching the man's lips get progressively thinner in annoyance had been a little overboard, he could admit that. Nothing about this situation was normal, though, and if Jefferson was going to drag him away from Houston and everything he loved then John felt he was under no obligation to behave himself.

Wouldn't be like Jefferson to give him time off for good behavior, anyway. Not where money was involved.

Once the sandwiches, tomato soup bowls, and one glass of blueberry pomegranate juice were empty, Jeff had dismissed the boys in order to speak with his mother alone. John had hoped this would mean the first few moments to himself since Jefferson had shown up, but no such luck as Scott slipped into step immediately behind him and followed him out into the living room.

Nothing had changed in these rooms for the last decade. It was all the same furniture with its dark wood, faded cloth, and indentations from the bodies that always sat in the same places. The same outdated television that they kept for the hook-ups and John's own refurbished game consoles tucked neatly into the entertainment center underneath the flat screen. There was even the same smell of apple pie floating in the air. It was probably imbedded in the walls because their Grandmother made it so often.

Just for the sake of forcing something in this room to not be so chokingly the same, John dropped into the green recliner by the window that had always been Virgil's seat. John could swear the thing had pencils sticking through the cushions, and preoccupied himself with digging his hand between to find them.

Scott dropped down into his usual position on the edge of the blue-grey couch that nearly exactly matched John's eyes and forced a smile onto his face. "Can't seem to keep yourself out of trouble, can you?"

A simple shrug was all John could really find to say to that, and he frowned a little. Why was it with his family that words never seemed to be the right answer?

"I take it you don't want to talk about it?"

"No, not really. But I'd do it again." It felt important to say that last bit aloud, loud enough that he hoped Jefferson would hear it. Because some things in this world were worth three million dollars, and John's freedom, a hundred times over and there would be no hesitation if he was called to hit that button again.

"That's…" Scott trailed off; obviously uncertain of the adjective he wanted. "Fair, I guess."

John watched his older brother slump slightly, all the fight seeming to drain out of him, and John couldn't help frowning. The room was the same, maybe, but Scott wasn't. He looked older now, and tired. Not in his face, which was still as handsome as ever, damn him, but in the defeated turn of his shoulders and the stiffness of every movement.

Now that John was thinking about it, he couldn't see why Scott was even at the old farmhouse in the first place. Hadn't the military claimed his soul all those years ago, so he couldn't be around here anymore? Hadn't he gotten his wings and flown away from this hell as fast as he could go, without ever looking back at those he'd left behind? What was he doing back here?

Something big must have happened in the last seven years, and though he wanted to know, John didn't ask. Because if he asked, then Scott would ask him back, and John wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"You're looking pretty good, Johnny." Scott's smile was a bit more genuine this time as he got up and began pacing. "Better than I've seen you in a long time."

This was ironic, as Scott hadn't even seen him at his worst, but John didn't say that either. Instead, he calmly shrugged and said, "you look old."

"Thanks." But Scott sounded more amused than angry with him, and John didn't quite manage to stop the half-smile before it slipped passed him. His older brother seemed to take this for a victory as his grin relaxed and his shoulders lifted a bit. "What do you think Dad meant by making a difference in the world?"

This time, John's shrug was genuine. "No idea, to be honest. Jefferson hasn't spoken much since we left Houston. Wouldn't let me turn on music, either, which makes for a very long nine hours."

"No doubt. You've really got yourself in hot water this time, Johnny. Wonder if you'll taste good with butter."

It was a lame joke, and John couldn't help wincing at it. "Probably not great. I'm somewhat gamey you know. It'd have to be a least garlic butter."

Scott laughed, which seemed to startle them both, and John turned his head to look out at the rain that had started falling sometime during lunch. It couldn't be this simple to fall back into their old banter, could it? After everything they'd done to each other, was it really so simple as just talking?

The silence between them turned a little awkward, and Scott turn to look out the window with a soft sigh. "Gordon was in an accident."

"I saw it on the news." John winced at how calloused that sounded. He'd wanted to call, but he'd lost Gordon's number long ago, and anyway he'd had his own problems at the time. "They said he was doing well, at a secure location away from the public."

"The island. Virgil's put his schooling on hold to look after him."

Maybe there was an accusation in there, maybe not, but John chose not to deal with that right now. "How's Alan doing?"

"As well as kid that lives thousands of miles away from civilization when not at school would be expected to." Scott sighed, and John got the impression that that was something his older brother and Jefferson had discussed before. From the look on his face, Scott had lost. "Don't get me wrong, he does well enough, I guess. Spends a lot of time on video chat with his friends from school, and causing havoc when he's not doing that. Virgil says he's glad the kid's only home a few months out of the year."

John laughed slightly, pulling his knees up to his chest to rest his chin on and wrapping his arms around them. "Sounds like typical Alan."

That horrible silence again that echoed with everything that wasn't being said.

"We've missed you, John." For the first time in this conversation, Scott sounded truly pained. "Seven years, that's a long time to not even hear from someone. You never called, wrote, anything. For all we knew, you were lying in some unmarked grave somewhere."

"I wasn't." Obviously, as he was sitting here now, staring out the window as it started to rain. "Jefferson made it very clear that he wanted nothing more to do with me. I guess I just…" He shrugged again. Scott was looking for honesty, and the truth was even John didn't know why he'd never even tried to contact his brothers in all that time. It wasn't like his quarrel was with them, and he'd missed them too. Maybe at first he'd been ashamed, and after that, when things were better, maybe it just felt wrong after so long to try and burst back into their lives.

Scott was going to say something, but Jefferson striding into the room and his very presence demanding their attention, as it always did, stopped him.

"Step into my office, boys. I have something to show you."

There was no choice but to comply, though John kept his head down the whole time. He was familiar enough with this office to find a chair without looking; a good portion of his teenage years had been spent in this office with his father demanding explanations for his behavior and never once listening to what John was trying to tell him.

It was a fairly boring room, in truth. A large desk, with dual monitors and a videophone and very little else that wasn't correctly filed. Two pictures in frames, one his parent's wedding picture, and the other a family picture not long after Alan was born, were the only decorations on it. Five chairs, always five, sitting in front of the desk were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.

Scott sat in the seat directly across from Jeff, and John took the one as far to the left as possible, resuming the knees to chest position he'd just been in.

"Alright, first I'm going to show you something, and then I'll explain a bit more what this is all about. I apologize for the secrecy, but you'll soon see why it's necessary."

The lights clicked off and a large screen slid down from the wall to the right, and somewhere above John's head a projector clicked on. A screen, white except for a logo and two words appeared. The logo was the world as seen from space, overlaid with an out stretched hand. The part that would be its arm pointed upwards, with the letters IR written on it. Below this was written 'International Rescue' in a bold black font.

"Welcome to International Rescue," a distinctly British female voice said. Scott perked up, and John couldn't help uncurling slightly. "We are an organization dedicated to those struck with natural disasters, who would otherwise be unable to help themselves."

The screen changed rapidly after that. First a shot of a blue rocket with a red nose cone blasting through the air, it sleek design taking John's breath away. He'd always loved machines, and what he was seeing now was incredible. A green behemoth of a ship, looking more alien than anything, starting its engines on a runway. They were going faster now. Some kind of yellow digging machine with a drill on the front that spun, another yellow machine of some kind that was putting out a fire, and a red rocket, tall and sleek, that could only be meant for space travel that made John's fingers itch to touch and his heart hammer in his chest.

Over all of this, the woman had kept talking. "Using our advanced technology, International Rescue proposes to be the first, and only, organization of its kind."

The screen changed again, flashing shots of different disasters. Some John was familiar with, like the tsunami that had struck several Asian countries the year before, and an earthquake in the Midwest that had destroyed most of the civilization in the state of Utah a few years before. Others were older shots, judging from the picture quality, of disasters John knew less well. All were scenes of destruction, of loss, and mourning people.

"Natural disasters hurts all of us equally. International Rescue is designed to come to the aid of people in grave danger, without regard for nationality or political ties. Our sole concern is preserving human life, for once that is gone it cannot be returned."

John couldn't help glancing at the pictures on the desk, but looking away just as quickly when he saw Jefferson watching him.

A shot of the Earth from space, a real picture, with the International Rescue logo slowly coming in over it. "Thank you for your interest in International Rescue, and welcome aboard."

The lights came back on, and John blinked rapidly at the sudden change.

"This is just a rough start, of course, and the theatrics are all Virgil. He was very angry with me that I was going to show you before he's finished it." Jeff's voice was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "But you can get the basic gist of what we're going for. Now, tell me, what do you boys think?"


End file.
